


I Hear A Rhapsody

by SoHereWeAre



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Comfort, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Family Fluff, Forbidden Love, Gentleness, Implied/Referenced Incest, Love, Tenderness, WWII, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoHereWeAre/pseuds/SoHereWeAre
Summary: Robb Stark enjoys a quiet moment of reflection on the back porch of his Vermont home on a starry night during pre-WWII with his sister Sansa.**Originally meant to become a full fic, but I am leaving as a one-shot.**





	I Hear A Rhapsody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sansafeels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansafeels/gifts).



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> Thank you to sansafeels for this lovely mood board! :)

And when I hear you call so softly to me  
I don't hear a call at all, I hear a rhapsody  
And when your sparkling eyes are smiling at me  
Then soft through the starlit skies, I hear a rhapsody  
My days are so blue when you're away  
My heart longs for you, so won't you stay?

\--- Frank Sinatra, " I Hear A Rhapsody"

 

Autumn, 1941

 

Tranquility settled in the cooling air as the sun retreated behind thickened clouds as Robb lounged back into the sturdy white wooden swing, the soft creak the only sound signifying his arrival onto the rustic back porch. His glass of lemonade found its easy home balanced on the top of his thigh by his slightly tanned, freckled hand and the cold of his drink instantly bled through his rolled cuff pants. Music from the radio in the kitchen played from inside the house, reaching Robb's ears through the opened windows.

It was an unusually warm September evening in Vermont and the younger Stark kids were taking full advantage of it, expelling some pent-up energy by playing kickball in the backyard of their countryside home. The weather out here typically seemed cooler than in town, but for some reason tonight it seemed stale, stagnant. Rickon, Bran, and Arya didn't seem to pay any heed, laughing and shouting in the near distance, seeing who could kick the ball the furthest while avoiding the wooded area beyond the first line of trees. Robb peered out at his brothers and sister, his left hand reaching over to adjust the short-sleeved roll on his white t-shirt. _Can't wear white after Labor Day, silly_ , he could hear Sansa teasing. A smile ghosted his face for a moment before it settled in a more serious symmetry, his hand abandoning his clothing style to run fingers through his auburn hair.

He wanted to focus on the playing, something good and carefree and fun, but all his mind could think of was Father's latest letter and the newscast from the radio before supper. Mother had taken to bed shortly after dinner was cleared away, begging a headache before shutting herself up in her bedroom. It was on everyone's minds, the war abroad, a war they had yet to join but it was only a matter of time and Robb knew that time was running out. Father was already stationed overseas and his latest letter had been terse; there were parts Mother omitted when she read aloud, her voice trembling. She had dismissed the younger Starks prematurely from the table as she sat across from him, her face tired and drawn, and Sansa sat next to him, a foot nervously nudging up against his. Robb's heart went out to his mother but it also bled for his sister and he knew she was desperately seeking contact, a touchstone and he reassured her as discreetly as he could by sliding his foot around her heel to touch her arch. 

Wordlessly, Robb helped Sansa wash, dry, and put away the dishes after mother fled to her room and the kids were outside. It was Sansa's idea to turn off the radio and turn on the record player. For a moment it was easy to slip into a different world with Blue Champagne easing their chores and their minds. He was reminded of all the times Sansa patiently led him through the awkward dancing lessons, insisting he learn to be proper date material, which he suspected was her own selfish need to have a dance partner and no one else in the house could fit the bill. Not that he minded, really...

Sansa turned dreamy-eyed yet melancholy as she flitted about; music always affected her. She had a lovely singing voice but it was silent as they finished up and she snapped off the record player, meandering out of the kitchen without a word. He watched her leave, rendered helpless and saddened at the slump of her shoulders through her flower-printed crop top. He had frowned earlier at her choice of attire: her crop top baring her midriff and dark blue side-button shorts that showcased her long legs. He knew their mother did not approve of the look either but she said nothing; maybe a year ago she would have, but now she more often than not let the trivial things slide, especially when it came to Sansa. As a result, Sansa spent less time seeking their mother's advice and leaned more onto his, and she also sought out his company more now than when they were younger. Robb found he didn't mind it so much, even though he probably should.

The screen door squeaked open but Robb didn't turn his head. Instead he closed his eyes as the swing swayed a bit due to added weight by his side. Leg touched leg as a head laid gently on his broad shoulder. He could feel messy, long hair tickling his neck as a thin arm reached in front of him to swipe his glass from his hand, followed by a delicate gulping. He smiled before opening his eyes, taking an empty glass back from her, painted red fingers briefly touching his in the exchange.

"That was supposed to be for me, you know." It came out softly without a bit of reproach.

"I know. But I was thirsty."

Robb shook his head and returned the glass to his leg. It would have made more sense to take it inside or set it on the floor but he didn't want to unsettle her head from its rightful place. Something hard being tapped into his hip drew his attention as he rested his head atop of hers. He looked down to identify the object and noticed she was barefoot, her toenails glistening red in the porch light.

"Aren't you too old to play with dolls? At sixteen you should be interested in boys and clothes and makeup and movie stars."

"Such a boy. You don't pay attention. I sewed a nightgown for Dolly. It's Arya's doll she abandoned awhile ago after she cut off all her hair. Do you like it? I wanted to try a small version as to not waste fabric but I want to make it in human size." She dragged the doll down to his knee and rested it there. He examined it to please her; it really was a perfectly sewn doll gown.

"It's lovely, Sansa."

"You're going to enlist now, aren't you? You're eighteen and Father cannot stop you. I know you aren't happy at the University and the news keeps becoming more and more dire."

Robb sighed and absentmindedly kissed the top of her forehead. How many nights have they spent this past summer in this very spot talking about the possibility of him enlisting in the Army? He would have directly after high school if it wasn't for his mother's pleading and the mute panic flashing in Sansa's bright blue eyes. It was hard enough having one man in the family in the military in such times; he knew she could not bear to lose another. Besides, the University was close to home and Father, making a fine salary as a Colonel, had already paid his tuition for the first year. Yet for all his mother's excuses and begging it was Sansa's silent opposition that moved him. It took many nights of him explaining why he felt he needed to do it and even though eventually she sided with him, she still didn't want him to go. He understood; he didn't want to leave her but honor, duty, and pride demanded it.

"I would write to you everyday," Sansa whispered softly.

"You don't write Father everyday," he chided, even as he gripped his glass tighter.

"Father is not you."

The silence between them was comfortable as always even though so much could have been spoken. Sansa started to rock the swing and he complied, pushing in perfect time with her. The gentle creaking and her warm body were lulling him into a state of drowsiness until she moved her doll to the other side of her and slid her hand to clutch at his knee, picking at the fabric of his pants. The heat of her touch seemed to burn through to his skin while her narrow foot curled around his.

"I want to try to sew something for you, Robb, if you'll let me. Something you'll like, I promise."

"I would be flattered, and I would love anything you sew for me," he muttered into her hair that smelled like lemons. "I would wear it until it wore out."

"Even something in pink?"

"Even something in pink." That was Sansa's favorite color, and even though the thought of a pink shirt was less than ideal, he would gladly wear it for her. "Light pink, anyway," he added.

"Maybe we can go tomorrow to buy fabric? Maybe stop at the Soda Shop for a chocolate malt, then catch a movie?"

"Sansa -" He wanted to tell her no, remind her she can do those things with her friends instead of her brother, but before he could say anything she jerked way from his shoulder to snatch the cup from his hand and set it on the wooden floorboard. 

"We won't get any more days to spend together if you leave." 

She nestled back into his side but her hand shot out to turn his head her way and he was forced to look at her innocent but pained face. Her light auburn hair framed her high cheekbones and a small spattering of freckles accented her pale face. Her eyes - so blue like his own - held questions that he had no answers for. His initial resistance faded away as he realized she was right. If the United States joined the war there would be continents and oceans separating them.

"All right, you win," he murmured softly. "We can go into town tomorrow afternoon and I will suffer through the fabric store and buy you a malt."

"And movie?" Her thin eyebrows wriggled up in demand and he couldn't help but smile.

"Fine, and movie. You know if it's the movies then Arya and Bran -"

"No. Just you and me." Her voice dropped low, surprisingly husky, like a woman's. "Besides, ' _You'll Never Get Rich_ ' is now playing. They wouldn't be able to sit through it." 

"And you think I could?" 

"Well, you have pictures of Rita Hayworth in your room, Robb, and I'm not so naive as to know what goes through your mind when you look at your bombshell redhead. I thought _you_ would be dragging _me_ to the movies just to see her. And Fred Astaire moves like a dream. I would marry him if he danced with me everyday. He's dapper."

"You're too young to marry, Sansa. Look at you, still dressing up dolls." To accent his teasing and hide his true feelings on the subject, he flicked at her unkempt hair.

"Mother married Father at sixteen," she countered, trying to catch his hand but failing."And Jeyne is marrying Theon when she turns seventeen. Or sooner, if her parents allow it. I think in these times everyone is rushing to marry -"

"So movie and malt it is." 

His quick acquiescence brought a tiny squeal and a peck on his cheek and he grinned indulgently at her, soaking up the way she snuggled back into him, resuming the rhythm of lazy swinging. Sansa was the only sibling he ever really felt calm and at peace with. Arya was an energetic tomboy, Bran was studious and too serious, Rickon a little scrapper. He loved all of his brothers and sisters but with Sansa, he could reflect and deflect on her and she on him and there was a rapport between them he never really fully understood but it was something good and pure and true. Even now sitting on the porch, they fell into a quiet closeness in contrast to the yelling and playing of the younger Starks. Rickon had kicked the ball into the wooded area and Bran and Arya were arguing over who had to retrieve it while Robb felt content to sit in silence. 

He knew their lives were going to change soon, not for the better, but for now he just wanted to enjoy the sweeter moments while they still existed.


End file.
